


Carl Grimes is an Asshole and So Is His Dad

by skarlatha



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: And Carl is a Badass, Background Daryl Dixon/Rick Grimes, Homophobic Language, M/M, Missing Scene, POV Ron, Ron is Such a Little Shit, Spoilers for S6 MSF, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2018-05-11 21:40:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5642926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skarlatha/pseuds/skarlatha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the fight in the garage, Ron thinks about how annoying it is that Carl is so damn <i>cool</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carl Grimes is an Asshole and So Is His Dad

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Michelle_A_Emerlind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Michelle_A_Emerlind/gifts).



> Or, as Michelle_A_Emerlind wanted me to title it: "I'm a Little Pissant, Short and Stout." Enjoy your Christmas fic, my little butternut!
> 
> This fic now has a [Russian translation](https://ficbook.net/readfic/4036636)! Thanks Maryiq!

It doesn’t make any sense why Carl would have lied about what happened in the garage. I nearly killed him and he knew it and I just hate that asshole _so much_. Why does he have to be so fucking perfect like that? And I don’t mean ‘perfect’ in a good way. I mean it in a ‘I want to punch him in his fucking face because he’s so obnoxious about it’ way. Enid sees it too, which makes it even worse. He’s been on the outside and he’s killed walkers and he’s killed _people_ and it’s just not fair that he’s so much cooler than me just because he’s a murderer like his fucked-up father.

I mean, not that I wasn’t going to shoot him. Which would make me a murderer myself. But I never believed in all that Batman bullshit about how if you kill a monster you’re just as bad as them. Fuck that. If killing one person keeps that guy from killing a hundred more people, then shoot that asshole in the _face_ , that’s what I say.

But still, he’s got the advantage right now and so as soon as we get into the other room alone, I decide it’s probably best to apologize for trying to shoot him. After all, he did cover for me out there. And he did help me get out of the garage. So maybe I owe him this little one. “Listen,” I start out. “I, uh--”

“Hand me the gun, grip first.”

I turn around slowly, because of course he’s got his own gun trained on me and fuck, he shouldn’t look so _cool_ when he’s threatening to blow my brains out. It’s unfair. No wonder Enid would rather be with him than me. “Carl, I'm sorry.”

“Yeah, I know. Now give me the gun.” He holds out his free hand, his gun still pointed at my head, and if it was anyone else besides possibly his dickhead father or the scary-ass cookie lady, I’d think it was a bluff. But no. This is not a bluff. So I hand him my gun.

“Look, man... I get it,” he says, tucking my gun into his belt like a fucking badass, and I hate him for that too. He’s _my fucking age_. Why does he get to be a badass with a gun when my mom’s still making me have a ten o’clock bedtime? Fuck this shit. And even worse, he’s still talking. “My dad killed your dad, but you need to know something. Your dad was an asshole.”

He’s right and we both know it, but dammit, that’s my _dad_ and he doesn’t get to talk shit about him. He treated my mom like trash and that needed to stop, but he’d gotten better before and he could’ve done it again if Carl’s dad hadn’t decided to start staring at my mom’s tits 24/7, and so this punk has no right to talk to me about assholes, goddammit. “And your dad isn’t?” I snap back at him. “Crazy jerk who’s so crazy your own people had to knock him out in the street to make him stop ranting like a fucking psych patient?”

Carl drops his own gun, finally, dangling it in his hand and setting his face into a stony glare. “You don’t even know what it’s like out there. My dad’s been through shit you can’t even imagine and yeah, it’s fucked him up. Your dad lived behind these walls and never had to make calls like _my_ dad has, so what’s _his_ excuse, huh?”

“He was sick,” I hiss at him. “We talk all this shit about ‘keeping the old world alive’ and being civilized and crap like that, but when we have a guy who needs _help_ then people like your dad come barging in and just shoot him in the street like a fucking _dog_. Don’t talk to me about excuses and reasons and PTSD or whatever the hell you’re calling what your dad has.” I pause, pointing angrily in the general direction of where Rick is for emphasis. “If he shot my dad because he was dangerous, then by your own stupid rules we should shoot _him_ because _he’s_ dangerous too.”

Carl just stands there staring at me, but he’s got that look on his face like mom gets when I’m yelling at her and she’s just patiently waiting on me to run out of things to yell, and it really pisses me off but the longer I keep talking, the more fucking self-righteous he’s going to get about it, so I just stop ranting and glare at him instead, and after a moment he shrugs, giving his head a tiny little shake. “What do you want me to say, Ron? That my dad’s dangerous? That he’s an asshole? Well, he is. Okay? Make you feel better to hear me say that? But the fact is, he’s going to keep the rest of us alive, and even if we’ve lost a lot of people, my dad’s still the best chance we’ve got. So you can complain all you want about how you’re jealous about Enid and how you’re pissed at my dad for killing your dad and how you buy into this whole ‘we need to be civilized’ thing, but that’s all just bullshit that doesn’t matter in the real world. So you need to just shut up and let my dad save your life right now.”

He’s right about that too, but I’m already worked up and I’m tired of Carl being the one in charge of this conversation, and maybe I was saving this little nugget of information for later when I could say it to the most people with the most impact, but something about his smug-ass little head-tilt makes it just tumble out of me like I’m spitting hot coals out of my mouth. “Maybe he’ll save my life right now, but what happens next time we get attacked by walkers and he’s too busy being balls-deep in that greasy redneck you’ve got with you to notice? Huh?”

 _Yes_. Fuck yes. A reaction from Carl that’s something other than ‘oh look how much more mature than you I am.’ His mouth falls open a little and he just says, “What?”

I can’t help the little smirk that spreads over my face. “I saw them in one of the empty houses one day. Your dad had the redneck bitch bent over a counter, just railing him.” Carl’s just staring at me blankly, still looking completely fucking shocked, and so I smirk harder and take a step forward. “Kissing him, too. So it’s not just that there was some kind of adrenaline rush going on or something. So maybe my dad was an asshole, but at least he wasn’t a fucking _fag_.”

And well, shit. That was the wrong thing to say. Because the off-balance surprised look melts out of Carl’s pretty blue eyes as they roll so hard they might fall out of his skull, and it’s clear I’ve lost whatever advantage my little secret had given me. “Really?” he says. “That’s really what you want to get upset about? There’s walkers in the garage trying to eat your ugly face and you’re standing here talking shit about who my dad fucks?”

“It’s not right,” I tell him, trying to keep the anger in my voice to hide the fact that I know I’ve already lost this argument. “And I don’t know how you can be okay with--”

“Dude, if my dad and Daryl are fucking then good for both of them,” Carl interrupts, then tilts his head at me again. “And besides, we both know you’re not that different.”

It’s my turn to go slack-jawed and say “what” like a dumbass, and then it’s _Carl’s_ turn to smirk at me. How the tables have fucking turned. And he’s got two guns and is standing between me and the door. Fuck my life.

“I’ve noticed you watching me,” he says, and I want to hit him for how _sure_ he is. “At first it was just when I was with Enid so I thought that’s what it was. But lately you’ve been watching me when she’s not there. Why’s that?”

“Because I’ve been thinking about shooting you,” I tell him, mostly honestly. Because, I mean, I _have_ been thinking about shooting him. But I might have also spent entirely too much time hating how blue his eyes are and how confident his walk is, and I’d mostly convinced myself that it’s been because I was hating how good he must look to _Enid_.

He smirks even _harder_ at that and takes a step forward. “Yeah, I know. But is that all?”

“Fuck you,” I spit out.

And then. He fucking. Kisses. Me.

!!!!!

And even more shocking than that is that I actually _kiss him back_. And I _like it_. There are hands on hips and sides and necks and cheeks and tangling in hair and tugging at shirts (but not going _under_ the shirts because I’m not that easy, come on) and I swear it feels like there are at least twenty hands on our bodies at any given second, and where the hell did _Carl Grimes_ learn to kiss like this? I mean, at least I’ve had the benefit of some porn I stole from Aaron’s garage once, but Carl’s been out on the road with no DVD players since this whole thing started and so it makes no sense at all that he knows how to do that thing with his tongue and that thing with his lips and oh my god, I’m getting my first kiss from _Carl Fucking Grimes_.

Fuck my life. This is not how I thought this day would go when I got out of bed this morning. I’d kind of imagined maybe standing over Carl’s dead body, not making out with him upstairs while the adults do something very gross-sounding in the other room.

“See?” Carl says quietly as he pulls away, eyes twinkling with even more smugness than before.

“I hate you,” I tell him, and it’s still at least half-true. And the other half…

Well, if we live through this, I’ll just have to process the other half later.


End file.
